


The Beautiful Obedience

by Issay



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character-centric, Complicated Relationships, M/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3747136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issay/pseuds/Issay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows he will die. One day, maybe today, maybe in twenty years when they are both old and successful, masters of this sad, shadowy world that eats its children and doesn't allow anyone to be happy. James is completely fine with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beautiful Obedience

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into русский available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3292210).

He knows what he is.

James Wesley is just a faithful dog, a creature so dependent on his master he's not even missing freedom. James is at Fisk's side to serve, only to serve and that's fine by him, it's all he ever wanted. To be honest, five years ago he thought he was going to die on the streets of New York as one of the homeless, pathetic junkies who quietly disappear from this world and aren't missed by anyone. And then Fisk happened to him, took him from the streets, made him get clean – James could never understand why and Wilson didn't offer a reason – and employed him.  
Wilson Fisk knows that saving one's life and turning it all around is the best way of ensuring one's loyalty. The kind that makes James lie and deceive and bleed and kill for Fisk. The kind that will eventually cause him to die and he will do it, yes, he will do it with a smile on his face. Because Wilson Fisk is everything James has ever needed.

 

James doesn't crave many things.

He keeps it bottled because if he'll start wanting he knows it will destroy him. So he maintains a careful balance between lack of emotions and absolute love for Wilson Fisk. Yes, he has to love him, in a strange way that doesn't make a man blind to one's faults. It's a way that makes him see everything better, in a harsh, white light that chases the shadows away. All he can see is the man himself. And he loves Wilson Fisk despite what he sees.

James needs to love Fisk. If he didn't, he would hate him.

 

_Obey his wishes. Anticipate his needs. Never argue with the orders._

He knows the rules, knows by heart and accepts without hesitation. It's how he stays alive, completely aware that if he breaks them, chances are it will be his body ending up in pieces in the river. Shot to death or strangled by those powerful hands, with his skull crushed under Fisk's elegant shoes... James has seen so much death. He has an endless stream of new suits by now, he lost a lot of them to bodily fluids and gunshot wounds. He can afford it now, Fisk pays well. Not that James needs money, he can get by on the smallest of wages. He did, once.

James smiles, thinking that the days when he had to count every cent are long past. Now he has the luxury of forgetting them, once and for all.

Good riddance, if you ask him.

 

“Do you think I'm a good man?” asks Wilson one of those rare nights when it's just the two of them in Fisk's studio apartment (not the glass and metal condo, not yet). He just climbed another step on the tall ladder of New York's underbelly.  
“Is there an answer you need to hear?” James knows there is no good answer to this question. For a moment Fisk is silent, huge hands surprisingly softly caressing the fabric his armchair is covered with.  
“I don't know. Come here.”

James knows how this one goes. They played that particular game before.

So he rises from his place on a sofa and moves to where Fisk is sitting. Then he drops on his kness, suit pants crinkling – it doesn't matter, it doesn't, nothing does. Only the strong pulse of the city outside closed windows and cadence of Wilson's breath. James looks at him with patient pleading but won't make a move before he is ordered to.  
“Unzip my pants,” comes the instruction and it's done immediately. James' hands are warm and steady as he bows his head over Fisk's cock letting his hot breath ghost over it.  
Wilson's fingers tangle themselves in James' hair and pull his head down, it's almost like a dance, a choreography they both know so well. It's almost soothing. James closes his mouth around the shaft and starts sucking, the way he knows Wilson likes it. He listens to changes in breathing, feeds off quiet moans and groans while his mouth is filled with taste and smell and sound. Everything just falls behind, nothing is important now – not even the struggle to maintain control over the city, not their singular ambition nor the constant danger they both live in. It's not important who will attack New York next or what Hydra is doing these days. For this one perfect moment they are frozen in an amber, like insects in warm light that protects them and preserves for an eternity.

 

James knows how this one ends.

 

It ends with Fisk's sharp, bitter taste in his mouth, swallowed as a courtesy. It ends with a hand in James' suit pants, more crinkles on soft wool, doesn't matter, it's fast and so brutal it hurts, he will feel it for days. He wouldn't have it any other way.  
And then there's an embrace – something only the two of them know about, something that is just for them and not for the world – when James finally comes, like a teenage boy in his pants but it's not important because his head is pressed into Wilson's chest. James can feel his heartbeat, smell his scent – musk and sandalwood, scent he will know even if he was woken up in the middle of the night.

For a quick moment they allow themselves to be human and to draw comfort. But the world waits for no one and crime in New York... well, there are only three kinds of people who don't have the luxury of sleep in this city: stockbrokers, superheroes and crime bosses.

James cleans them both up and they don't talk about it.

 

It doesn't change anything, after all. It's just another part of the job, of this beautiful obedience.

 

The thing is, James thinks, maybe it started out as love used as a precaution. Something to keep him from hating his employer. Now he uses it because it makes him hate himself a little bit less.  
He knows he will die. One day, maybe today, maybe in twenty years when they are both old and successful, masters of this sad, shadowy world that eats its children and doesn't allow anyone to be happy. James is completely fine with that.

 

After all, he knows the rules of this game.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what happened here but it happened.
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](http://issayscorner.tumblr.com/)


End file.
